


broken noses and colourful bruises

by hawksonfire



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky Bakes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cookies, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV Clint Barton, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, blood mention, clint breaks his nose all the damn time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: Clint's soulmark is across the bridge of his nose.The first thing Bucky does upon meeting him is punch him in the face.Ah, romance.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684168
Comments: 39
Kudos: 380
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	broken noses and colourful bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyishBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/gifts).



> I AM RETURN! Didja miss me? I know it's been, like, literal _years_ since my last upload, but I'm here now! I've been super busy with school and shit BUT GUESS WHO'S GRADUATING NEXT WEEK!!! THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S ME!!!! I'm gonna be _edumacated_.
> 
> Anyway, here's hoping this fic is the start to a summer full of words! I hope you like it!
> 
> Bucky Barnes Bingo Square: Y3 - AU: Soulmates

Having a soulmark across the bridge of your nose is actually way better than it sounds. It sure saved Clint a lot of punches to the nose when he was a kid, even if he did have a higher number of those than most kids do.

There are, however, some downsides. For example, Clint pretty much knew that most of his relationships weren’t a perfect match. That didn’t mean he didn’t try, of course, but there was always a little niggling voice in the back of his head telling him it wouldn’t work out because whoever he was with wasn’t his soulmate. The voice wasn’t wrong - pretty much every relationship Clint has been in since his teens has gone up in smoke - but it still sucks. 

He’s resigned himself to living out his days soulmate-less, occasionally getting punched in the nose by groupies who wanted to be soulmates with an Avenger. 

The worst thing, though, about having his soulmark on his nose, is that when he _does_ get punched in the nose, it takes a week or two for the bruising to fade enough to see if his soulmark activated. These days, he’s pretty good at directing blows away from his nose - the last person to get one past him was Nat when he brought her into SHIELD. Now, _that_ was a stressful two weeks. To this day, he still isn’t sure if what he felt when the bruising healed and his mark was as black as ever was relief or disappointment.

“Admiring yourself in the mirror there, Robin Hood?” Tony teases, bumping Clint from behind as he walks by. A small hiss escapes from between Clint’s teeth as the motion jostles his bruised ribs, but he covers it up with a smirk and a wink.

“You’d know, Tones,” he says, following Tony to the kitchen. “Besides, someone has to appreciate this gorgeous face.”

“I’d offer my services,” Tony says as he opens the fridge, “But I don’t think the world could handle the two of us together.”

Clint snorts. “Probably not. Hell of an idea, though.” Tony laughs, tossing him a drink, then shuts the fridge.

“Capsicle’s bringing an old friend to stay for a bit,” he says.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “No shit? He found Barnes?”

“No shit,” Nat deadpans from behind him. 

Clint does _not_ yelp, thank you very much - he makes a manly yell as he fumbles his drink. “For shit’s _sake_ , Nat,” he mutters. “Put a fucking bell on or something.” She blinks at him, head tilted like a cat. “You know I think it’s creepy when you do that,” Clint mutters, shoulders hunched around his ears.

She smirks. “Yes, Steve found Barnes. He’s bringing him over sometime today, I think they’re on their way now.” She nudges Tony out of the way and starts fiddling with the kettle. Every time she makes tea, Clint feels betrayed. 

“Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have just entered the building,” JARVIS says politely. “They will be arriving momentarily.”

“Probably best not to alarm the newest super-soldier,” Clint says brightly, snagging Tony’s coffee mug from the counter and dancing out of the way of his grabby hands, moving towards the elevator. “I’ll meet him later, we can bond over -” Something slams into his nose and Clint stumbles back, hands flying to his face and coffee mug falling to the ground and shattering. “Aw, nose, no,” he whines, tilting his head back as he tries to staunch the bleeding. Tony and Natasha are silent behind him, staring in shock. 

“I- I’m sorry, you startled me,” the culprit stammers. 

Clint opens one eye, squinting. He sucks in a breath when he sees who it is, shocked, then hisses in pain. “No worries, man. No harm, no foul.”

“I broke your nose,” Bucky Barnes points out. Steve crosses his arms next to Barnes, the expression on his face telling Clint to be _very_ careful with how he responds. 

Clint waves a hand. “Not the first time, won’t be the last. Thanks.” The last bit is to Natasha, who hands him some paper towel and some ice, which he presses to his nose. 

“C’mere Buck,” Steve says, tugging him over to the sink. 

“I’m not a child, Steve,” Barnes mutters, pulling his hands out of Steve’s and sticking them under the water. 

“I’m just tryin’ to help,” Steve says, getting that kicked puppy look on his face. 

Barnes sighs. “You’d help more if you’d stop hovering like a mother hen and let me breathe every once in a while, Steve. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Clint flinches away from Nat’s probing hands, baring his teeth at her as she pokes a sore spot. “I’m fine, promise. Your hand doing anything funky?”

Barnes looks at his metal hand, tilting it around. “Don’t think your head is hard enough for that. Why?”

“Fucking _shit_ on a stick,” Clint growls as Nat puts his nose back into place. Blinking furiously as tears come into his eyes, he passes a hand over his face. “You punched me right in the soulmark, but if you ain’t lit up, chances are I’m not either. Figured I’d ask.” 

Barnes examines his metal fist again. “Sorry man,” he says, shaking his head, “Nothing. Don’t think that was kept in mind while building this arm anyway.”

Clint sighs. “Guess I’ll have to find someone else to punch me in the nose, then. I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton.”

“Barnes,” the other man says. “Bucky.”

“Oh, shoot!” Steve says with an ‘aw shucks’ expression. “I didn’t introduce anyone!” Steve starts making introductions, so Clint steals Tony’s replacement mug, sticking a tongue out at him when Tony pouts, and slips into the elevator. The last thing he sees before the doors shut all the way are Barnes’ eyes, a piercing gray staring right at him.

 _Fuck_ , his nose hurts.

*

Clint might be crazy - he’s had enough blows to the head over the years - but he’s pretty sure that Barnes is avoiding him. Clint’s got no earthly idea _why_ , he’s not mad at Barnes for punching him in the nose, ‘specially since that was mostly his fault. But he can’t think of anything else it could be, and cornering Barnes isn’t exactly easy. The guy was the world’s most notorious assassin for nearly 7 decades.

It takes Clint three days to catch Barnes alone, and that’s only ‘cos Clint’s perched on top of the fridge drinking coffee after a nightmare when Barnes walks into the kitchen. He goes straight to the fridge, pulls out a bunch of food - ingredients? - and starts to bake. He still hasn’t noticed Clint five minutes later, and Clint’s trying to figure out how to alert Barnes to his presence without startling him and possibly getting a knife to the throat, and then - “Achoo!”

Clint tumbles off the fridge headfirst, bracing himself to land on the floor, and then - he doesn’t. Peeking one eye open, he sees Barnes staring down at him, bemused. “You make a habit of sitting on the fridge?” Barnes asks. Clint wiggles a bit, but the arms under him just tighten to stop him from falling.

“Only when I want to watch a hot assassin baking,” Clint answers. Barnes is still staring at him. “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

Barnes lifts him up a bit, then shakes his head. “Not really. ‘S like holding a buncha grapes.”

“That’s not emasculating at all,” Clint grumbles. “You makin’ cookies?”

Barnes shrugs as he puts Clint down. “Figured I’d try. Can’t screw up too bad, right?”

“Need a taste tester?” Clint offers. Barnes eye him warily for a few seconds, then nods. The next hour or so is spent mostly in silence, except for the sound of Barnes smacking Clint’s hand with a spoon when he tries to steal some chocolate chips.  
  
“Stop that!” Barnes scolds after the eighth time. Clint pouts at him. “There aren’t gonna be any left for the cookies if you keep stealing them.”

“But chocolate!” Clint whines. Barnes glares at him and slides the bowl of chocolate chips out of his reach. “I could still get them,” Clint threatens.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “But you won’t. Because then you won’t get any cookies.”

Clint gasps. “You would withhold cookies from me? How could you!”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up. “I won’t have to if you stop eating the chocolate chips.”

“But they’re so good,” Clint whines. Nonetheless, he stops trying to steal the chocolate chips and waits patiently for the cookies to be done. (He also ignores the warm feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach when Bucky smiles at him _with_ little eye crinkles, but that doesn’t mean anything. Right?)

He’s practically vibrating in his seat when Bucky pulls the tray of cookies out of the oven, setting them on the countertop to cool. “They’re too hot,” he says, batting Clint’s hands away. “If you eat them now, you’ll burn yourself.”

“Worth it,” Clint says reverently, slipping around Bucky and snagging a cookie. “Hot, hot!” He tosses the cookie from hand to hand, then into his mouth, groaning as the chocolatey goodness melts on his tongue. “This ish sho goof!” He says around a mouthful of cookie.

Bucky snorts. “Sorry, I don’t speak gross.”

Clint swallows. “This is so good!” He says again. “Can you bake me cookies forever? I can’t pay you or anything, but -”

Bucky interrupts him, laughing. “I’ll bake you cookies anytime you like, sweetheart,” he smirks. “All you gotta do is ask.” He reaches out and uses his metal thumb to wipe a chocolate smudge from Clint’s cheek, then sticks his thumb into his mouth. “Delicious,” he murmurs, keeping eye contact with Clint.

“Okay,” Clint squeaks. “I, uh. I. Gotta go. Away.” He crams the last of his cookie into his mouth and takes off, leaving a bemused Bucky behind him in the kitchen.

What the fuck. What the fuck? What. The. Fuck.

*

It’s another day before Clint can work up the courage to leave his room, and of course, the first person he runs into when he does is Bucky. “Hey!” Bucky barks, striding up to him. “You avoiding me, Barton?”

“What? Me, avoiding you? Why would I do that, haha,” Clint says, grinning widely. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Bucky stares at him. “Yes, it does. Because that’s what you’ve been doing.” Clint’s not sure what to say to that, but maybe if he looks pitiful enough, Bucky’ll leave him alone? He’s only dressed in sweatpants and a ratty old blanket right now. Plus the bruise on his face is still pretty prominent. Sighing, Bucky shuffles in place and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”

“Uh... okay,” Clint says.

Bucky gets this kicked puppy look on his face, it’s almost better than Steve’s. “I’m just tryin’ to get used to being around people again,” he says, “Been alone so long it’s hard to remember what’s okay and what’s not.”

He keeps looking at Clint with that damn expression on his face, and finally, Clint can’t take anymore. “Alright, alright,” he groans, flapping his hands at Bucky. “Stop with the puppy eyes already, you’re forgiven.”

Bucky grins. “Great! MarioKart in an hour?”

Clint blinks. “Sure?”

“Prepare to have your ass kicked, sweetheart,” Bucky winks. He claps Clint on the shoulder and walks away, leaving Clint baffled and bemused in the hallway. He can’t go back to bed because apparently he’s playing MarioKart in an hour, but maybe coffee will help his brain figure out what the fuck just happened.

He wanders into the kitchen, still wrapped in his ratty blanket and sits down on a stool. Tasha narrows her eyes at him. “I just got hit with Hurricane Barnes,” Clint says absently. Tasha blinks, then slides a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.

“Consider it a reward for coming out of your room,” she says sweetly. Clint eyes the coffee suspiciously.

“You didn’t poison it, did you?” he asks, not moving to take the coffee.

Steve, having just walked in, says sternly, “She wouldn’t do that, Clint.”

“Sure she would!” Clint argues. “She’s done it before! Poisoned my damn pizza and made me sick. Couldn’t eat pizza for a week afterwards.”

“I was building up your tolerance,” Tasha sniffs. “Honestly, Clint, you should be thanking me.”

“You poisoned me!” Clint cries. 

“Only a little,” she says.

“Alright, enough!” Steve says, slapping a hand over Clint’s mouth. “Nat, no more poisoning anyone.”

“Not even if they deserve it?” she asks.

“Not even then,” Steve says firmly. “Clint...” He stops and actually looks Clint over. “Put a shirt on, we’re not in a brothel.”

“Says you,” Clint grumbles, pulling the blanket tighter and eyeing Steve’s chest pointedly. “Could poke an eye out with those things, Cap.” Steve turns bright red and sputters nonsense for a few seconds, then turns around and practically runs out of the kitchen. “He didn’t even get his smoothie,” Clint points out.

“He’ll be back,” Tasha says dismissively.

“Seriously though, you didn’t poison my coffee, right?”

*

Clint beats Bucky all of _one time_ in MarioKart before he gets the hang of it and promptly starts kicking Clint’s ass without mercy. “Jesus, did Hydra have you playing MarioKart in your downtime or something?” Clint grumbles, elbowing Bucky in the gut.

“Only DK Summit,” Bucky deadpans. Clint snorts, swerves to collect a mystery box, and promptly sends the red shell he receives straight at Bucky, passing him and entering first place with seconds to spare before crossing the finish line. 

“Hah, take _that_!” Clint crows, throwing his arms into the air and doing a little shimmy.

“I demand a rematch!” Bucky cries. “That red shell was a foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Barnes,” Clint says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Which one’s this, then,” he says. Clint gulps.

“Uh... War?” he squeaks.

“You don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” Bucky says, smirking.

“I’m sure,” Clint says, his voice mostly confident. Bucky picks up on the little tremor and grins, but thankfully leaves it alone. Honestly, Clint’s not sure how much more flirting he can take before he cracks and does something stupid, like Bucky. 

Aw, feelings, _no_. 

*

Clint really needs to up his avoidance game. After his ill-timed revelation (re: feelings, subtopic: Bucky) in the common room yesterday, he’s back to trying to avoid Bucky. See: trying. He’s utterly failing, as no matter where he goes Bucky manages to find him within an hour, but he’s trying, nonetheless.

His latest hiding place is on the outside of the Tower, behind the giant ‘A’. He’s got blankets to keep the windchill away, a thermos of hot coffee, and a book he’s been wanting to read for a while. He could stay out here for hours, and there’s no way Bucky will - “You having fun out there, sweetheart?”

Clint gives a manly shout and flails, nearly falling off the roof before something grabs the hood of his sweater and pulls him inside. He only barely manages to save the book and his coffee, and Bucky snags the blankets, pulling them inside as well. “I’m too old to be scared like that,” Clint complains.

“You’re young at heart,” Bucky responds.

“I’m old at bones,” Clint argues. “My bones creak when I get out of bed in the morning, Bucky, I ain’t exactly a spring chicken.”

Bucky pulls him up from the floor, snickering when Clint’s knees audibly crack. “Even my bones don’t do that, and I’m a century old,” he says.

“You were frozen, that doesn’t count,” Clint grumbles.

Bucky snorts and grabs Clint’s chin in his metal hand, tilting Clint’s face down and examining his nose. “Your nose looks better,” he says.

Clint’s mouth goes dry and he shifts on his feet. “Yeah. You pack quite a punch, though.”

Bucky winces. “I’m real sorry about that,” he says.

Clint waves a hand. “It was my own fault, I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings. Tasha’s been trying to beat that into me since she busted her way into my life.”

“Still,” Bucky insists, “I feel bad about it. Let me make you cookies or somethin’ to make up for it.”

“The last time we made cookies didn’t turn out so well,” Clint points out. 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought it turned out fine, but Steve’s been tellin’ me I need to work on my social skills. Sorry if I overstepped.”

Clint blinks, then practically trips over himself trying to reassure Bucky. “No, it’s fine, really. I’m just trying to balance my attraction to you with your need to get used to the Tower and - aw, words, no.”

Bucky blinks at him. Slowly, a smirk spreads over his face. “Well,” he drawls, “Good to know the feelin’s mutual, sweetheart.” 

Clint’s brain screeches to a halt and he stutters, “Wait, you- me- what?”

Bucky laughs at him and sidles a little closer, looking up at him through his eyelashes. And really, it’s _illegal_ how good he makes that look. “You’re kinda slow on the uptake, aren’t ya,” he says, still smiling. “So, whaddaya say about those cookies?”

“Okay,” Clint says, letting Bucky lead him away. (He’s mostly still in shock.)

*

It happens while they’re sparring. Clint was reluctant to spar with Bucky - not because of the Soldier, but because he doesn’t want to get beat up by a supersoldier - but eventually he gave in to Bucky’s puppy eyes. Seriously, those should be illegal. 

They’re in the gym in their workout gear warming up, and Clint is trying his hardest not to get distracted by Bucky with a manbun. “You ready to get your ass kicked, baby?” He says, smirking when Bucky blushes at the pet name.

“As ready as you are, sweetheart,” Bucky responds, putting his fists up. “First to get pinned has to buy the other dinner.”

“You’re on, Barnes,” Clint says. Then, without warning, he lashes out, fist going right at Bucky’s head. 

Bucky dodges and taunts him. “That all you got, Barton?”

Clint’s about to respond with something extremely witty when Bucky tosses his head to get hair out of his face. When he looks back at Clint, his eyes are sparkling and his face is flushed and Clint is completely paralyzed by his beauty.

And then Bucky kicks him in the face. More specifically, kicks him in the nose. In his _still healing_ nose. The stream of profanity that falls from Clint’s lips as he clutches his nose would impress even the most foul-mouthed sailor - Clint’s kind of impressed he even _knows_ some of those words, honestly.

“Shit!” Bucky cries, dropping his fists and coming over to Clint. “You okay, sweetheart? I’m real sorry about that.” He keeps apologizing as they walk over to a bench along the wall and sit down.

Clint’s eyes are watering and his nose hurts, but mostly he’s just embarrassed. “If that happens again, it’s gonna start feeling like you _like_ hitting me in the face,” he jokes.

“Why would I wanna bloody up that beautiful face of yours, huh?” Bucky says, handing him a tissue. 

Clint wipes at his nose, stopping the flow of blood. “I’m thinking we maybe hold off on sparring for a bit, what do you think?” he says, smiling a little. Bucky doesn’t answer, and when Clint looks over he sees that Bucky’s gone white. “Hey, Buck, it’s just a broken nose,” Clint says, trying to reassure him. “Not my first, won’t be my last, remember?”

Bucky still doesn’t answer, nor does he look up from the ground. Clint peers over his thigh to see what he’s looking at, only to find that the bottom of Bucky’s foot has burst into vibrant colour. Clint sucks in a breath through his nose - and immediately groans in pain. That seems to snap Bucky out of his trance and he looks up at Clint cautiously. 

Clint grins at him, eyes watering from the pain in his nose. (Yep, that’s it, that’s the only reason.) “Guess you’re stuck with me, hey Barnes?” Bucky grabs Clint’s face and pulls him into a kiss, and it lasts approximately half a second before Clint’s yelping as his poor, abused nose smacks against Bucky’s face. “Aw, nose, no!” he cries.

Bucky pulls away immediately. “We’ll have our first kiss when your nose heals,” he says decisively.

Clint pouts at him. “This is _your_ fault, Barnes, the least you can do is kiss me to make up for it.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t put my mouth on you, sweetheart, just that I wouldn’t kiss you.”

Clint gulps. “I am so glad my soulmark is on my nose,” he croaks. Bucky laughs at him, then graciously hands him another tissue when Clint tries to laugh and hurts his nose again. 


End file.
